


So Help Me God

by justmariamay



Series: Kyrie Eleison [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Angel Blades, Angels, Angst, Biblical References, Big Brother Michael, Big Brother Raphael, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Crisis of Faith, Forgiveness, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Guilt, Healing, Heaven's Civil War, Hurt No Comfort, Pagan Gods, Pain, Raphael is (not) Okay, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Raphael failed to heal a wound and one time he stopped trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silentium

Standing by the river Raphael sees the sunset reflected in its diamond stream. Water seems red and it makes him remember that day. Day, when this river became red with all the blood spilled in Heaven. He puts his hand into water, it’s freezing cold, like it should be. That day the river was boiling. He remembers disgusting pink foam that was gathering at the riverbanks. The mere thought makes him sick and he closes his eye, trying to shut out these memories, but they flood his mind cruelly. And here he thought he got over it. What a fool he is. Always has been. It’s funny really. Funny, how a dry chuckle goes together with blasted salt in his eyes.

When all is said and done, what’s the point in this? Why is he here at all? He has duties to attend to. He looks in his own eyes and asks flatly for the thousandth time:

“What is wrong with you?”

…

"Isaiah?" Raphael carefully calls his big brother. "Bother, what's wrong?"

Morning Star doesn’t answer immediately and Raphael doesn’t like it. His brother’s grace is gathered around his form like impenetrable shell. From what or whom he tries to defend himself? But Raphael’s own wings involuntary cover him as if from cold or… He can’t get it. This… this silence has been hanging everywhere throughout the Seven Heavens ever since the day Isaiah and many others refused to kneel before man. Raphael is familiar with this kind of silence. It’s silent as if there is a storm coming. But there are no clouds on the horizon. Though there is something else to it. This silence takes a form, a smell… form or smell of what he doesn’t know, but he’s glad it doesn’t have a voice yet. Raphael feels like he has no right to disturb this silence, but he needs to know. He wants to help.

“Brother, please… please look at me,” he beseeches. And Isaiah turn his burning glare at him, and for the first time he scares Raphael. But not for the last.

Isaiah’s expression softens, his grace loosens around him and Raphael calms his dismayed heart.

“Brother, tell me what’s wrong, I’ll help! Are you hurt?” he asks because Isaiah has been acting strange, avoiding him and Gabriel and even more Michael. He usually does that when he has something on his mind or has few broken bones in his wings. Raphael wishes he was less stubborn.

“Hurt?” he repeats musingly and smiles sadly. “Yes, I guess I am. But I’m afraid it’s nothing you can help me with.”

“Why not? Won’t you let me even try?” Raphael can be stubborn too. Father says he and Isaiah are much alike.

Isaiah seems conflicted. He quarreled with Father recently. Maybe that is what he means when says he’s hurt. But there should be more to it.

“Did Father upset you so?”

“He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see it… How can he be so blind, Raphael? How can you all be?” he shouldn’t say those things. Father will hear. But Father always forgives Isaiah.

“You are talking about humans, aren’t you?” he doesn’t really need to ask, he witnessed that discussion after all. What Isaiah has said makes sense, but… “Why are they so important, anyway?” that’s what he doesn’t get.

“Exactly!” exclaims his shining brother.

“I don’t understand,” admits Raphael. He really doesn’t. Isaiah smiles at his naivety.

“You don’t have to, little wing,” Isaiah caresses his cheek fondly. It makes Raphael warm inside. But the silence around is cold. It tries to kill the warmth. He decides to share with his brother:

“But this quiet, brother, this silence…” he stops. As if this silence suddenly got hands to gag him. Morning Star raises his brow and smiles slightly encouraging Raphael to continue. “It scares me, brother. It’s wrong, it shouldn’t be here.”

“Silence, you say… yes, you’re right. Ha.”

It’s not funny. Not funny at all.  He guesses it all is written on his face because Isaiah stops smiling.

“It’s okay that you don’t understand. But Michael…” ah, of course, it’s Michael, Raphael should’ve realized it sooner. “Michael is being stupid,” he sighs.

“Michael _is_ stupid,” shrugs Raphael. And both laugh quietly and shortly. But honestly, sometimes it was just sad. They both think so. Gabriel though finds it hilarious. But no matter how much smarter than Michael they think they are, Michael has wisdom comparable only to Father’s. “We still love him, don’t we?” he adds.

This time Isaiah’s smile looks forced, unnatural. Cold.

“Shame that he’s too stupid to understand how much,” he murmurs. Raphael noticed long ago how Michael usually dismissed such sentiments towards him when his own love was… was simply a given, like stars above. He also noticed that it bothered Isaiah more than it should have.  

Raphael casts about as if he suddenly stopped to recognize this place. Silence almost hurts.  Its crushing weight falls on his wings, ghost hands wrap around his throat and…

“Raphael, what is it?” his brother puts his hand on Raphael’s shoulder worriedly.

“Not fair, it’s supposed to be about you.” Oh, no. No, no, no. He’s not going to cry in front of his brother because of some stupid thing that most probably is just his imagination and oversensitivity.  

Too late. It already rains.

He’s shaking in his brother’s warm embrace and hates himself. His grace is anxious, trembling around him. What’s going on? _What is wrong with him?_

“I-I’m s-so sorry… I d-don’t know what it is…” it’s silence he thinks, it won’t let go.  

“Shhh, my little, please don’t cry,” warm wards falls into his ear but they can’t reach his heart.

_Why does it hurt so bad?_

“Shhh, it’s okay. Everything will be alright, you’ll see. I promise you, whatever happens now…”

 _What? What happens? When is now?_ Endless questions without answers.

“…whatever happens now, never forget that I love you, little brother. I’ll love you always.” The promise is sealed with a kiss to his feverish forehead. Raphael believes him. He always believes Isaiah. Whatever happens he’ll always believe him, his beautiful stubborn kind brother.

_I’ll love you always…_

…

_Liar._

_Liar!_

_Liarliarliarliarliarliar!!!_

_Liar…_

Promises… His big brother taught him that promises are worthless. They are just words and nothing more.

Whatever made Raphael throw himself in between Michael and Isaiah that day, he barely survived it. Michael shielded him, but blood was dripping down from ugly gash on his neck. Isaiah hurt him and didn’t even notice. As if Raphael stopped existing for him. It hurt. And worst thing that Raphael could never blame his brother for it. Because he deserved it, did he not? Because he was blind. Because he was weak. Because he is a fool.

That silence was masking a fresh wound Raphael failed to recognize, refused to recognize. No wonder it became infected and started to reek with sulfur in no time. Then it burst open and everyone saw it. But it was too late to heal it. Amputation was an only option. But how can one amputate a heart?

Standing by the river Raphael wonders how it can be so transparent and pure when it was poisoned with all that pus, blood, rage and hate. Does it have any right to stay pure, when everything else is tainted? No… But who is he to question purity? No one.

 _Everything is alright._ He sees it now.

Eventually he’s learned to love silence.


	2. Dolor

Eden is beautiful. In a way the new garden is much more beautiful than the old one, even if more sorrowful. Joshua has done well, so well…  It has changed and so has she. Long ago even little things would be able to make her laugh or cry. She was very emotional and sensitive. She could feel even the smallest disturbance. She almost always could say when one of her brothers or sisters was hurt or sad. She’s always been able to feel their pain. The war changed her. It made her stronger. Better. It made Father proud of her.

Standing in the middle of the Garden of Souls she feels how strings of grass move apart the rich black soil under her bare feet. Life always finds a way. No… not always. No matter what Raphael never could make herself believe in that. The tree she’s watching at has grown so tall. This camellia is special for her. She loves it. She hates it. She remembers.

…

“Hold on, little brother. I’ll make it better,” he promises. He shouldn’t.

Jegudiel is wounded. He’s bleeding. He’s screaming. And pain, so much pain. Raphael is trying, tries his best to not let this pain he feels from Jegudiel to interrupt the healing. Jegudiel can’t pray, can’t speak. The only word young archangel can distinguish is a desperate ‘please’. And Raphael tries, but everything he’s been able to do so far is to ease his brother’s suffering, though too little.

Other angels avoid being anywhere near and Raphael can’t blame them. It’s unbearable. Even see all that blood and wounds or hear these cries so close. And especially share this pain. But he will bear. He has to. No one else can help Jegudiel. No other healer will even try.

Suddenly Gabriel is right behind her and puts hand on his shoulder. It’s heavy.

“Brother, please, rest,” his older brother begs.

“I can’t.” Raphael has no right to.

“You are killing yourself!” yells Gabriel. If he stops now he’ll fail Jegudiel.

“Pain doesn’t kill,” he whispers and continues searching a way to close the wound, pushing his grace into it. Jegudiel’s grace is in panic, it repels Raphael’s, is afraid to let him in and Raphael can do is push further without hurting his little brother even more.

“Raphael…” Gabriel starts again.

“Pain doesn’t kill!” he shakes his brother’s hand off. Pain doesn’t kill. If it hurts, it means you still feel. It means you are still alive. Alive. Jegudiel won’t die. Raphael won’t let him, not him, not his dovelike gentle little brother.

Gabriel doesn’t say anything else, but Raphael can feel he looks at him as if he’s the one who suffers here. He’s not. He will take it all. He can take much more than this. But can Jegudiel? Gabriel leaves. It’s right, he doesn’t have to be here. It’s Raphael’s job after all.

On the second day Jegudiel doesn’t get better. If anything, he’s got only worse. Raphael looks at him and barely recognizes him. His gentle features are twisted with anguish. Raphael sees how he’s trying to be strong, to not cry and scream, but… It can’t be happening. Such things shouldn’t be possible. No one should feel this nightmarish pain.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll heal you. Just be strong, brother, a little longer, just a little longer…” Raphael doesn’t know whom he consoles, Jegudiel or himself.

Zachariah comes to them, the second seraph that hasn’t betrayed Father. Something’s not right with him, but Raphael’s grace is all concentrated around Jegudiel to say for sure. Zachariah doesn’t speak, doesn’t interfere. But he watches for hours how Raphael tries in vain to do something, anything really. In the end he kisses Jegudiel’s sweaty forehead and leaves as quietly as he came.  

Only now he starts to think who could have done this. He didn’t ask when Jegudiel was brought to him. But who? Lucifer? Samael? Azazel? Any option is horrible. But it’s the truth, one of their brothers has torn Jegudiel’s chest open, one of their brothers poisoned him. It’s scary. He shouldn’t have thought about it. It disturbs his concentration, it makes him thinks about the things that can’t help. He can’t allow himself to feel anything other than what Jegudiel is feeling now. No matter what a torture it is.

It’s the third day and Raphael is losing hope. He can’t do anything, he can’t even take Jegudiel’s pain. He takes and takes but it’s like a bottomless pit filled with blood. He’s afraid he’ll drown in it. He _is_ drowning.

“Oh, Father…” all he can really do now is pray. Father can help. There is nothing that is not in His powers. Maybe Raphael risks His disappointment and even wrath, but he doesn’t care as long as his prayer will be answered. “I don’t know what to do, Father. You hear him, I know you do. How do I save him? He suffers so.”

For a while there is only silence. Then he hears the whispers between Father and… Michael?

“Teach him, Michael,” Father’s voice is heavy. Raphael wishes he could do without His help. Father has much more to take care for.

“Father, please, I’ll do it…” Michael says. Raphael doesn’t like how it sounds. Does it mean he isn’t able to?

“No, Michael, it’s time,” Father is adamant.

“No, you won’t  have…” but something interrupts Michael. “I’ll do as you ask,” he obeys. He always does.

Michael appears behind him, like Gabriel did before. He feels his brother’s warmth and leans into it. Michael forces his hands still and whispers into his ear. Raphael hears him clearly even through cries and moans of poor Jegudiel. His eyes fill with tears.

“No… Michael, no! There has to be another way!” He can’t believe it. He can’t believe it’s what Father wants from him. Is it a punishment?

“It is the only way to help him now. It is mercy.”

How is it a mercy? It’s… it’s… a murder. How is Raphael going to be any better than those who’s hurt Jegudiel if he does that?

“Raphael. Raphael, listen to me,” Michael is sad but determined, “There is no death for us. As we die our grace becomes part of Heaven. Father will be able to resurrect him. But now, you have to do it.”

He knows it. Of course he knows it. He’s been told by Father not once. And still… it seems so wrong. But he must do as Father asks.

“I… I’ll do it,” he finally says, though his voice betrays doubt.

“I can stay,” offers Michael. Raphael needs Michael’s support, but he won’t take it. Not now.

“No. I’ll do it myself, don’t worry,” he desperately holds the tears back.

Michael reaches to Jegudiel and kisses his closed eyes before he leaves giving Raphael the saddest smile he’s ever seen.

Raphael inhales deeply, preparing himself. But there is no way he can be ready for it.

Raphael makes another effort and pain leaves Jegudiel, not completely but enough to open his beautiful blue eyes.

“I’ll make it all better now, little brother. Do you believe me?” Jegudiel nods.

Raphael pulls him into sitting position and hugs him tightly, even knowing it must hurt. He kisses his brothers face that tastes like blood, his hair that smells like ashes. He whispers praises:

“You’ve done so well. You’ve been so brave, so brave and so strong. I’m so proud of you,” and much-much more than this. He whispers the sweetest nonsenses, because he can’t let him go without telling him how much he…

“I love you, brother. I love you. Forgive me,” and pushes his grace into the center of seraph’s existence. And the next second there is only wind where his brother has been, in his arms. And pain is gone. But so is Jegudiel.

Exhausted and drained Raphael falls on his back. He’s so tired. He is an archangel but this left him weakened beyond imagination. There are stars above and they shine too bright. He can’t look at them. He uses the rest of his powers to switch them off, to cover those shiny holes in the sky with grey clouds. He closes his eyes pretending that pain is really gone.

The next day Father speaks to him but he doesn’t listen, he knows He’s disappointed. Raphael is healer, he was born to save. And he failed. He feels the eyes of his brothers and sisters and knows that they are disappointed too. But no one blames him. No one dares. Except for Raphael himself. But of course Michael won’t have any of it. Stupid Michael.

“I want to show you something,” he takes his hand and flies them to Eden. To what was Eden before Michael burned it. Accidentally, Raphael suspects, but it’s done its part. There is nothing but ashes here and that horrible ugly tree which started all this. Michael takes him where the cherry orchard once was. Why are they even here?

Michael squats down and cleans the dust from a spot. And… is that..?  Michael smiles up at him sadly and happily like only he can.

“See?”

Raphael sees. He sees a green sprout. And he knows that it will grow tall and strong. Here, in this devastated place. He kneels and feels it. This life. It almost feels like… like Jegudiel’s grace he dispelled yesterday. But... how can he believe that it's alright? How can he believe he’ll see his little brother again, when he was the one to destroy him?

“Is Father proud of me now?” he asks instead. It comes out more bitterly than he intended to.

“Of course he is,” but Michael doesn’t reprimand him for doubting.

“Are you?” he asks knowing the answer already.

“I always am.”

_Because you are stupid._

“Is it true that he’ll come back?”

“Yes. One day we’ll have it all back. Our home, our family. I promise.” Raphael hates how Michael says it. He’s always quiet, but now he sounds like he doesn’t want to be heard at all. But Michael never ever lies.

“Don’t promise, please. I’ll believe you,” Raphael warns and lets Michael envelop them in warm embrace of his huge ugly wings. He doesn’t ask anything else. Even where Michael has learnt this. It doesn’t matter. He just pours this little green thing with water from his eyes. He has plenty.

…

This evergreen beautiful tree with red-red flowers is what that little sprout has grown into. She puts her arms around it. Her brother whom she failed. The first, but not last. There were so many of them. War was cruel. The losses were countless. But it is not over yet.  There will be others whom she will fail. But she’s ready to fail them this time.

“Goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. It’s pointless, because it’s only tree. But it makes her feel a little better.

Raphael leaves the Garden. Her new apprentice is waiting for her. Another young angel whom Father decided to make a ‘hand of mercy’. The Rit Zien is a really small group, but… but wasn’t she enough?

She doesn’t question His will.

“Ephraim,” she makes him look at her. His wide awed eyes let her know what he thinks of her. He is afraid. Somehow they all are these days. She’s fine with it. At least it makes them listen.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“To learn how to stop pain,” he answers meekly.

“No. You’ll learn how to kill pain, when you can’t stop it.”

It’s war after all. At war you always kill. Even when you are a healer. Even if you are the Healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made myself cry while writing this chapter. I've got a bad case of Raphael feels.  
> Okay... who the hell put this big bucket of angst here?!  
> Oh, I did. Sorry...


	3. Ferrum

Looking around this part of Heaven, Raphael allows herself to smile a little despite the quenchless emptiness that made itself at home somewhere in her chest. She is a part of this little Paradise. A memory of her is. She looks at her own reflection: a pale youth with curly black hair, gentle features turned into severe mask, but kindness still shines in those eyes. Another man is beside, old, but Raphael sees the young version of him. They walk together as friends. Almost as brothers. Tobias. She always remembers with fondness that curious and awed look this human had when Raphael explained how to heal his father’s eyes.

Raphael never hated humans, they were curious, she saw the potential. She couldn’t understand what made Lucifer to do what he did. But then again, she never felt as much love from Father as was given to Lucifer. Though lately they disappoint more and more and Raphael is almost terrified of what will happen in future on God forsaken Earth. Even back then it hurt to be there, too much pain around. But those like Tobias, who believe, believe despite how hard their life is, how much evil is around them, inspire somewhat akin to admiration. Because Raphael herself is losing faith. It’s like an illness with no cure.

That order from Father to guide a young righteous man reminded her what she is, before He only ordered her to kill, to fight, to destroy. But encounter with Da- Asmodeus who apparently was having fun torturing poor Sarah and killing her seven husbands reminded her of things she’d better forget. When he returned from Earth Father asked why he let the devil go. ‘It wasn’t necessary,’ he answered, but Father saw right through.

Raphael watched his mutilated fallen brother limp away. Truth is he didn’t even consider killing him. Asmodeus grew strong, vicious, so unlike that funny little cherub she still remembers. And yet that almost shy smile he dared to give him as in gratitude didn’t belong to the Snake. It was Daniel’s. As if there still was a chance that… No. Stupid hope. She hates hope, because it only makes suffering longer. But back then Father hadn’t yet decided how everything should end and Raphael could hold onto small hope of peace.

She leaves Tobias with his well-deserved happiness and goes to the armory. She needs to discuss something with Virgil before Michael returns. Surprisingly she doesn’t find keeper there, instead there are two other angels. Castiel and Balthazar. Her heart clenches. These two are so like _them_ , even when there are more differences than resemblance. And yet she can easily imagine Danel dragging older and wiser Azazel here to make fun of burning bush. Back then she would laugh with them. But really, Castiel should know better than indulge Balthazar in his vagaries.

“You can’t make it talk, Balthazar. It was Metatron, who spoke to Moses,” she comments Balthazar attempts to engage the holy plant into ridiculous conversation.

Younger angels’ wings gather around them as they fold meekly. They turn around looking scared but not remorseful for leaving their posts. She only raises her brow questioningly waiting for them to explain themselves. But after few seconds of heavy awkward quietness she speaks first:

“Don’t you have anything to do?”

“We were waiting for Virgil,” says Castiel.

“Why?” she asks.

“I’ve lost my… blade,” confesses Balthazar. Irresponsible little child. Raphael can only hope that angel’s blade won’t find its way in someone’s hands. Blades… Virgil will only need an imprint of Balthazar grace to forge him a new one. So terrifyingly easy.  

“I see,” she sighs and leans to the wall left to Gabriel’s Horn. Gabriel, when will he finally return?

“Raphael?” Castiel addresses her warily.

“Yes?”

“Are you not going to punish Balthazar?”

_ Why would I? _

“Of course I’m going to smite him right on the spot,” she tells flatly and her brothers seem to believe her, “I’m joking.”

Balthazar finally relaxes.

“You never look like you’re joking,” mutters Castiel.

_ No, not lately anyway. _

“Don’t lose it again. You know how it can end,” she settles on simple warning. Those blades can kill an angel instantly that’s why it’s important to keep it close.

“Yeah… I hope it’ll dissolve sooner than someone uses it,” replies Balthazar. Without owner’s grace this weapon decomposes itself in rather short time (short for an angel). Brilliant invention, as brilliant as its creator. Rare angel remembers who first made and used this exact kind of blade. But Raphael will never forget. Her brother who had a special place in her heart, but in the end it didn’t mean anything to him. She didn’t mean anything to him.

Now she doubts she means anything to anyone at all. But she’s fine with it, easier that way. Safer for sure.

‘Virgil,’ she calls through the angel link. Virgil sends an apology and asks her to come later.

“Damn!” swears Balthazar.

“If you need the blade right now you can use mine, until Virgil fixes you a new one,” offers Raphael. She doesn’t really need this thing. She hates it. It won’t feel as comfortable as Balthazar’s own, but it will do.

“Really?” Balthazar asks in disbelief.

“Why not?” she hands him silvery dagger, “Just stop talking to the bush. It’s weird.”

Before she takes off she catches Balthazar’s whisper: _‘But she and Joshua always talk to the plants in the Garden!’_

They don’t understand. But they don’t need to.  

She stands before an empty throne and wonders if this emptiness will ever be refilled. Their half-brother has disappeared along with Father and Holy Spirit too. He would be a good King. Raphael knows that Michael will never take His place, even when he is the only one who has every right to do so. Michael isn’t good enough, never in Father’s eyes. And she… if she ever thinks about taking this place herself it will mean that she will have nothing left to lose. The very thought makes her sick. It won’t happen if justice still means something. 

She hates that she already misses the light weight of the blade. She never wanted to touch that thing in the first place. And now it is natural to always have it. It is beautiful, simple, elegant weapon. And deadly. Perfect in so many ways. No wonder it became so popular, first among the enemy, then up here. Azazel was always smart and proved to be a genius after the fall. Lucifer’s many victories were own to Azazel cunning mind. And Raphael happened to be the one to deal with him.

Happened… _Destined_ , like Father said. He knew, of course He always knew. So He gave her an order and taught her a lesson. Only now, so many years after she finally starts to realize its meaning. She belonged to Father and only Him. Even now when He’s not even here only his will matters. Even when she catches herself on the thought that He might be dead ever so often.

Raphael always adored his brothers, all of them, especially Lucifer (obviously). But Azazel never failed to make her feel special. She considered him her best friend, so much more than any other angel or archangel, even Gabriel. 

_ “Why are you here, Azazel?” Raphael was tired from fixing the giant split in the soil accidentally made by Hael, young angel was clumsy. _

_ “To help you,” Azazel smirks. _

_ “Then you are a bit late.” _

_ “I can find about a thousand excuses to be here, brother.” _

_ “I think we are going to find it out then?” _

They were not tied by duty, Azazel was Lucifer’s subordinate, what they were tied by though is not an easy question. But for a long-long time Azazel looked at her as if she was the greatest treasure. His treasure.

_ “I wish I could keep every of your smiles in a treasure chest somewhere.” _

_ “Why would you do that? It’s ridiculous.” _

_ “In case you forget how to smile. With everything you keep in mind it’s not impossible. ” _

_ “You won’t let me forget, will you?” _

_ “Never.” _

He hated to see her even a little hurt.

_ “It’s just a little burn…” _

_ “Uh huh. And when dinosaur bites off your arm you’ll say ‘It’s just a fly bite’! What are you laughing at?” _

_ “At you. You are being stupid.” _

_ “Oh, I’ll show you stupid!” _

But she remembers the first time _he_ hurt her. It was a few days before the war started.

_ “What’s going on, Azazel? It’s so quiet.” _

_ “Don’t worry. It will be alright.”   _

_ “What if it won’t? Something is so wrong…” _

_ Firm hands were placed on his arms and Raphael was pushed against the tree. Suddenly he wanted to run away. Azazel looked in his eyes so intently, as if trying to say something. His grace was contained and didn’t offer the usual warmth. His fingers dug into Raphael’s flesh with unmeasured force and in this silence he could hear capillaries blowing under his skin like explosions. Raphael was afraid of what might happen next. He was on edge. But whatever he was expecting didn’t come. _

_ Only eyes, breathe and whisper… _

And then Azazel fell. The betrayal stung deep, as deep as Lucifer’s, but Raphael didn’t have much time to dwell on it when her brothers were dying one after another. 

And years after but long before Hell was created Raphael buried Azazel underground.

_ “Didn’t hope to see you again, brother,” a mocking greeting. _

_ Raphael could barely recognize Azazel, so full of venom and evil, enforced with power of human souls. _

_ “You are not my brother anymore,” his voice wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t. _

_ “No? You wound me, Raphael. And here I even named my children in your honor.” Children. Nephilim. Hybrids that stood behind their father, young man and woman. Abominations, but from what Raphael had heard very powerful. _

_ “Israfil and Rafail,” Azazel declared proudly. Azazel’s spawn. Raphael’s name. Once again he made him feel special. He had never felt more offended. _

_ “I guess I shouldn’t be flattered,” replied Raphael coldly. _

_ “You’ve always been smart. The smartest,” Azazel laughs at him, “But that makes me wonder, why you are here. You are no warrior, we both know it.” _

_ Raphael wasn’t, never before, never after. He wasn’t sure he could fight at all. Azazel was worthy enemy. Even Gabriel failed and had to flee from Azazel and his soldiers.  _

_ “It seems we both are going to find out then,” concluded Raphael, not sure of himself. His vessel felt stuffy and heavy. A blade in Azazel’s hand and his abominations ready to strike.  _

_ Raphael watched the shifts of their grace, no motion escaped her senses. And his senses…. Too sharp and vessel (a good one) made them only more receptive to surroundings. It gave him possibility to protect himself, but also they were killing him. And he was alone. Completely alone against the monsters, because Father cut his connection with his siblings. No one was going to help him.  _

And yet she won, against all odds. And cost for that victory were centuries of apathy and indifference. Whatever they had with Azazel Raphael buried it along with was left of her once beloved once brother under that desert. And now she feels nor love, nor hate for him, nothing really. She saw what Lucifer remade Azazel into and saw clearly that only name was the same. Other pieces just didn’t fit together. Azazel wasn’t dead. He was just gone. 

Just another one in the long line of those who left her one way or another. He chose to be with Lucifer. She understands. She probably would choose him too, if there was a choice. But there wasn’t and never will be. 

She closes her eyes and brings her healing hand to the left side of her chest, where Azazed stabbed her with his blade thousands of years ago. It didn’t kill her, because she managed to move her grace out of that spot in time, but the wound still opens now and then. She feels familiar warmth and wetness of her own blood and closes the wound with ease, but the damage seems to be irreversible. At least she found a way to stop it from spreading. It doesn’t hurt, not much. It’s just there, a part of her now. 

She thinks she laughs when little red spots color the base of the throne. Michael’s blood not once painted the whole trail to it. And Gabriel brought here blood of the enemies on his wings many times. Bloody sacrifices they made to worship Him, to prove that they are His… 

_ “I am yours,” Azazel whispered into his ear. _

_ Fool, he hoped Father wouldn’t hear. And Raphael was a fool to answer: _

_ “As I am yours.” _

The hall is empty and cold. So is she.  

She is no one’s now. She liked to be someone's. But Father doesn’t want her. Her brothers don’t need her. She isn’t able to keep anyone around. Even Gabriel hasn’t come back. Now she considers the probability that he never will. 

What should she care anyway? They all will leave her one day and she’ll let them. She will always forgive them. But it doesn’t matter. They won’t ask for her forgiveness. Her forgiveness is worth nothing.  

Maybe that’s why she gives it freely.


	4. Ignis

Raphael curses herself. What is she doing? She’s not supposed to be here, on Earth. She can barely stand the overwhelming feeling of… everything, every damn thing in a range of miles. Things actually change here. Specifically they get worse, or so it seems. What was she thinking?

She wasn’t. She didn’t take to time to actually rationalize. It rarely happens to her. Is she that desperate? She grasps at a straw here. She’s been waiting. But days turned to years and years to centuries and…

How does she hope to find Gabriel when it became obvious that he doesn’t want to be found? She thought she heard him. Somewhere near here. Northern lands of pagans. It was just like him, so sound.

And worst of the line of impulsive decisions was taking this vessel. This 17 year-old woman accepted her easily, despite being a pagan. She saw it as destiny and blessing from her gods. Viveca is good, strong vessel, the weight of Raphael wings doesn’t crush her, but there is something Raphael is not ready to deal with – Viveca’s weeks-old son.

She looks at this bundle in her arms and… what is she to do with it? She can just leave this vessel and try to find another one, but… no time to panic. Not yet. She can handle a baby, it shouldn’t be too difficult. She’s done with angelings just fine. Only human baby is not an angel. And she is not a human at all. 

As to make it all worse boy starts crying. He isn’t hurt, just… scared? She isn’t great at understanding humans. And children are harder to understand than adults. But baby seems to understand that his mother is not his mother. Newborns cry a lot. Maybe it’s because they still remember where they come from. After all Lailah doesn’t exactly erase memory of souls, just shushes before sending them down. And now they are here, in cold and cruel world, paying for their fathers’ sins.

“You little ugly thing… you know that you crying like a bear cub growls?” she exaggerates only a little. Sighing she cradles baby rocking him gently. No need to put him asleep forcefully.

He doesn’t even have a name yet. His father was supposed to name him, but the man will never return. Now Viveca knows it too. She accepts it. These people don’t see death as something to be afraid of. They believe if man dies in battle he goes to heaven palace to feast with fellow warriors. Funny. They also worship cruel gods, gods that deceive, steal and kill. So very human.  

She thinks better of praying to Gabriel, someone else might hear. Even if she mutes the angel link, Michael might catch her. And she can’t let it happen; she won’t bear Michael’s sad understanding gaze.

Viveca’s home is falling apart, it’s empty and lonely. Just like…. No.

She tries to concentrate to read the flows of energy. Wind from East chases clouds that bring the rain, the river awakened from winter slumber crushes the remaining ice. There are two reapers doing their job about 10 miles away. Everything seems just fine, not a trail of her brother. But… but one little spot seems too normal. As if it’s completely empty, more like it doesn’t even exist, which is strange. She would miss it if not for how birds of passage avoid flying there. She soon learns why. Pain, pure pain hides beneath nothingness. She can almost touch it even from here, so intense it is.  She feels like she has to go there anyway, even if it’s not her destination. Maybe it’s her healer’s instincts.

Viveca whispers that they can leave boy with her mother. But Raphael doesn’t bother. Some baby can’t be a big problem. And also she knows that young widow has no wish to be separated from him. And Raphael promised to be good to her. She already feels a bit guilty for all this, she’s here for selfish reasons and Viveca still took her in.

She feels electric waves going up and down her wings and gives herself to the wind. She reaches that spot in the ocean within a moment and almost falls like a stone, like her wings were suddenly chained. She catches herself before she hits the cold water. Bear seems to enjoy that little clumsy feat of her, he laughs happily. _Children…_

An island. More like a lonely rock in the middle of blue and green water covered with fog. And suddenly she sees the cave. A black hole in the stone. Signs, sigils, some painfully familiar, some she’s never seen before. She thinks she recognizes Gabriel’s hand, but she can’t be sure. Written in blood. Not human or animal blood, nor demon, nor angel too. Blood of monsters.  It’s a prison, prison for a monster. This time she puts bear to sleep, just in case.

She experimentally touches the barrier. It doesn’t repel her, but she needs to be careful. There is a chance it won’t let her out. But no, should be alright. She inhales and steps inside.

She feels it as soon as she enters the cave. It’s been pushed out of real space and time here was cyclized. Mortal would never find this place. Someone made sure to hide it very well. The barrier also prevented all accumulated energy to dissolve feeding on it. It will be here till the End of the World. She imagines that stepping into Hell might feel like this, pain that was gathering here for centuries attacks her mercilessly. Even human child can feel how bad this place is, stirring in his sleep. Raphael doesn’t let him wake up, sending little bear good dreams of Home she lost. She actually glad she took him, he proves to be a good distraction. It’s not difficult to lose mind here.

She walks and steadily catches her breath from initial shock. She can take it, she lives with it after all. It’s almost scary how empty this cave is, as if everything died here. Pitch black darkness surrounds her is palpable, it was gathering here too. Her extra senses doesn’t let her stumble, then she sees the light.

In the end of the cave there are people. Man and woman. And big snake curled on the rock above them. All Raphael can think is what kind of joke is this. But they are not humans. Man is the source of that burning agony. But woman isn’t alright too, her arms covered with burns, her heart is broken.  

The man is chained to the rock. No, not exactly chained. He is bound with red, blue and grey ropes. It’s guts. Who could’ve thought of such thing? It’s disgusting. Head hung down, long dirty tangled red hair covers his face, and his skinny naked chest is red too, burnt. Probably with poison that is dripping from snake’s mouth. The woman holds a small bowl above his head with tired trembling hands.

The man lifts his head noticing Raphael. He smiles baring sharp teeth despite the torment he feels in every cell of his body.

“Come closer, child. I won’t hurt you. I’m not able to do so as you see,” he beckons her. He wouldn’t be able to hurt her anyway.

She steps closer holding sleeping baby tight to her chest. Woman with golden hair doesn’t look at her, concentrated on her task.

“I’m not a child. I’m older than you are.”

“How can you be older than fire and Chaos, wanderer?” he laughs breathlessly. He’s old. He looks like a mortal man would look at his forties, she even sees few silver strands in his hair and beard. She estimates that he probably was born not long after the Flood. She’s lived much longer.

“I am Chaos,” she replies. And she is, nothing is in order about her. Man looks at her with eyes of poisonous green color, they are nothing like Michael’s ever were, but they seem to read her just as easily.

“Are you, sweet maiden? Oh, you are. Just look at her, Sigyn, isn’t she lovely? Look how lost she is!” he spits venom with every word.

Woman turns her blue eyes at Raphael and gives her a weak smile, clearly used to her husband’s way to speak and confuse people.  

“What brought you here, hmm? How have you found old Loki? No one remembers where they left him, even Loki himself.”

“Loki…” name tastes like acid and fire “is that your name?” She knows this name. She heard it before, Viveca told her many things. But she had an impression that this god was free and acting. Or maybe they just share one name. But Sigyn, whispers Viveca…

“Perhaps not anymore, stray spirit. Loki’s name was taken from him. A trickster stole my life, deceived everyone, even himself,” he laughs again, this time more hollowly. “But you never answered Loki’s question. Who are you and how have you found this lair of grief?”

“My name won’t tell you anything, old god. You seem to give names to everything around you just fine. And how I’ve found you…” should she just tell him? “I feel your pain, that’s how.”

“What a sorrowful terrible gift you have, child. Who cursed you so?” there is no compassion in seemingly kind words.

“My fa… I was born this way,” she says in a small voice. “It’s not a curse, it is blessing. It makes me the best healer.”

He nickers. Looks like everything that doesn’t make him scream makes him laugh. He is insane.

“Do you even believe yourself? We are all cursed, child,” he wants to confuse her.

“I believe! I have to!” she sounds desperate even to herself. “I am who I am, that’s who I am,” it’s clumsy, but she doesn’t bother searching nice words.

“Those words are wiser than you think they are, stormy petrel,” he speaks and all of sudden really feels like a mere child. Loki has lived not even half as long as she has, but he sees right through her. She doesn’t like it even a bit.

“I could heal you,” she says. She is sick of all this pain.

“Could you? I doubt it. In my veins there is only slow poison. Cut my chest open and look inside, you’ll see. You’ll see that everything Loki ever was has turned into a fire.”

Raphael notices few tears Sigyn sheds at her husband’s words.

“Loki deserved this, my little friend. Every single drop of this poison, I made sure I deserved it,” it’s not guilt, not even close. She can feel the part of him relishes in this infernal pain, looks forward the moment when the bowl is filled to the brim and spills the deadly juice. You can never get used to pain, she knows that well. Every time you experience it anew. For a second she wonders if the fallen also found some satisfaction in their punishment as well, but quickly stops. They are not her family anymore, she doesn’t care.

“What have you done?”

“What haven’t I done? Ask Sigyn about our wedding for example! And yet she’s still here by my side! So loyal, so stupid,” at least he loves his wife. Loki continues: “I’m a bad husband, and horrible father. One of my sons killed and ate another. It is his entrails keep me bound. ”

Sigyn whimpers pitifully. Raphael can’t even imagine, she’ll never have children. It’s good. She’ll never see them kill each other. But she is one of this kind of children.

At least Loki has decency to admit he’s done wrong. Her Father… He’s never wrong.  

“This place is out of space and time… This snake won’t die from age, if you kill it the time will return back with it, you won’t die from its poison, these horrible ropes will never rot. Who put spell on this cave?”

“The thief, who else. But I see you’ve already guessed,” snickers redhead god. “The trickster twists everything around him to the point that real things seem so out of place… ”

He bends reality. Tricksters do that as far as she knows, but to create this space? He has to be something more. The suspicion becomes stronger. Why would Gabriel do such thing? It’s cruel… and yet it is just. But Gabriel is cruel, she remembers. He wasn’t just a messenger. He was a bringer of Father’s justice as much as Michael was, God’s Strength his name is. In battle he was ruthless, he brought Job his trials, he… He is her brother, most trusted, her best friend. She needs him.  But there is a big chance that it wasn’t him at all and her quest was meaningless from the start.

“You know him, don’t you, little broken heart? You do…” old Loki caws.

“Possibly,” she answers curtly.

“If he is still me, you’ll find him easily. By Odin’s side, or by Thor’s. He might even have an affair with Sif. I know myself well. Yes he changed Loki, resurrected foolish beautiful Balder, painted much prettier picture, pettier too. But it suits him so well. He took my place, my family, me. At least he left me my Sigyn and my pain,” Loki’s green irises burn with hate. Raphael doesn’t pity him. He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t deserve that.  “Who is he to you, my dear visitor? A runaway lover?”

Those pagan gods are so human they don’t even realize it. ‘Lover’, huh… she hates this word, she has little idea what it means. It sounds stupid.

“It might be my brother,” she hopes he is, she prays he isn’t.

“Why would he leave such sweet thing as you?”

_Everyone leaves me._

“There was a hurricane in my home, with big rain” _blood_ “with thunder,” _screams_ , “with sandstorm,” _ashes_ , “with lightning,” _fire_. “It took many of our brothers and sisters away. And recently our Father died. My missing brother had a fight with our eldest.”

“For a crown?” sneers the Skywalker.

“Why would you think that?” she asks quietly.

“Because you are princess, petrel. Oh, come on, my brother is a king after all,” as if it explains it. But this man already proved he can read her like open book. But she never considered herself a prince. Michael is the prince. And Lucifer, he has his own kingdom now.

“In a way. If my eldest brother just took this crown he would have fixed everything. But he didn’t. He never will,” _because he is stupid._

“Why won’t _you_ take the crown then?” god of fire has fun despite his torment. Well, she can give him at least that.

“Me?” she actually laughs. “You must be joking.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, wanderer. Loki _sees_ you,” he hisses when drops of poison finally hit his charred chest. Sigyn quickly empties the bowl into the hole on the ground and brings it back. She’s done it million times, every movement is steady and sure.  

“Do you really? And what do you see, old Fire?” she immediately regrets asking, but she’s curious. Viveca whispers to be careful, because he’s a master of deceit.

“I see wings of bravest bird behind your back. I see a storm longing to be broken. You want to drown the Earth with your tears to kill the fire that kills her. You want to heal the world…” he pauses, but he obviously hasn’t finished yet. Heal the world… they tried, again and again. “But if that is really your goal, then you should start with yourself.”

He laughs. Laughs like a madman. He is madman. But Raphael joins him, she laughs until her chest hurts.

“You are crazy. I’m perfectly fine. And the world is doomed,” _we all are._  

Loki’s gaze is calculating, mocking, cheerful, sad… so many emotions. Raphael thinks he never cries. Raphael knows he doesn’t. It is part of his strength. He is the man who laughs.

“If you say so, sad maiden. Oh, I could talk to you forever, but this place tortures all of us. Leave, child. Take your son and leave,” she doesn’t correct him. But she can’t leave before she tries. She has to.

She carefully puts sleeping Bear on the floor. Nothing here can harm him, not with her protection.

She comes dangerously close and presses her white palm into center of Loki’s tortured chest. She is ready to the extent of pain he feels, but fire… she dives into the blaze, a burning ocean of venom and acid. She doesn’t need to cut his chest open to see it. It’s all fire, solid, liquid. God of lies hasn’t lied about that. She can’t undo the damage… no, she can’t actually find the damage. Either Loki is one big wound or there is no wound at all. She finds that she has no means to weaken the flame. She ends up burnt too. Good thing she isn’t flammable, not like Michael. She doesn’t scream, she’s learnt silence, learnt to keep her voice down. She doesn’t give up until she starts suffocating. She has to stopbefore she hurts Viveca too.

Loki’s been laughing the whole time. Ungrateful scoundrel. But she supposes her efforts were rather funny. Sigyn has her big sad eyes on Raphael, there is fear, respect, pity.

“Fire. There is nothing but fire,” she states.

“As I told you, child.”

She might be able to free him. But she won’t. She won’t unleash another monster on this diseased world. She picks up Bear and hugs him close as if this ignorant innocent human thing can give her some strength.

“I’ll leave you to your destiny then, old fox. Goodbye,” she even gives him a little bow.

“Wise child – mother’s picture, father’s pride,” Loki scoffs. He gives Raphael last sick smile. “Careful what you are looking for, you might find it.” Then he weakly turns his head to his wife, “Sigyn, see our dearest guest out. Go.” 

Sigyn obeys. The bowl is left on the floor and Loki hisses and writhes as poison reaches him drop by drop. When Raphael and Sigyn are halfway from exit he starts screaming and the ground trembles beneath their feet.

At the exit Sigyn hesitates.

“May I hold your child, wanderer?” she asks hopefully. Raphael silently passes her woken Bear and Sigyn takes him carefully, almost reverently. Raphael can see and feel longing and grief. Poor woman. Not that she can understand. As their fingers touch Raphael heals the burns on her hands and arms, knowing that there will be new one very soon.

“What is his name?”

“I just call him a bear,” says Raphael and Sigyn laughs.

“Bear… a bee-wolf. Beowulf. He will be brave and strong warrior, I can see that already.”

“He will,” Raphael can see his soul. He will be a hero if he won’t turn wicked on his path. He has a free will after all.

“Fare thee well, wanderer. Thank you,” she reluctantly parts with the baby.

“I did nothing, don’t thank me.”

Sigyn just smiles sadly and hurries back to her husband. To her destiny.

Before opening her tense wings Raphael makes yet another impulsive decision. She cracks the barrier, she doesn’t destroy it completely, only compromises the integrity of the system. In time the barrier will weaken, which will make the snake and Loki more vulnerable. She’s giving Loki and his wife another chance, will they take it or perish in their pain and grief is up to them. This is all mercy she can spare for them, mostly for sad gentle Sigyn.

With that she finally takes off and brings them back to the ruin of Vibeca’s home. She wonders if she should find the new Loki to make sure… No, no she can’t. If this is Gabriel... He’s hiding, he doesn’t want to be found. That’s why he imprisoned old Loki in such gruesome fashion. He has new family, she realizes. He accepts the sacrifices pagans make for Loki (human sacrifices included). She can’t come home and tell Michael that Gabriel doesn’t love them anymore, that they are not his family anymore. She’s afraid to find out that it is truth. Yes. She’s a bloody coward.

Better forget that she’s been here at all. In the end she should have left as soon as she arrived. She’s got nothing, only angry flame still burning on the points of her fingers.

She puts Bear into his cradle and rocks it gently. Raphael wants to sing him some of her songs but she can’t remember any of them, what a shame. She used to know them all by heart. She forgot so many things.

“You’ve got to be strong, Bear. Will you be righteous or wicked, you have to be strong or else… why to be at all?”

She leaves mother and her son in this lonely place with her blessing. She leaves before she can change her mind. She wants to keep this tiny hope even knowing that hope isn’t cure, not even a painkiller. Just a remedy to go on and not even notice when you already lie down dead. She’s fine with it. She can wait forever. She’s perfectly fine.  


	5. Sal

Years pass and things get worse and worse. And now it’s time. No need to wait longer and postpone the Apocalypse, like they once did about 700 years ago. She and Michael even destroyed knights of Hell, leaving the remaining of them to Cain, who decided to renounce his loyalty to Lucifer. (What else could be expected from the traitor?) She enjoyed it. As scary as it sounds. But slaughtering those heathens was somehow liberating, pain was lost in the heat of the battle.

But as the XX century came to an end Raphael gave up on humanity completely.  

She isn’t ready. Not really. Michael is silent. He looks like he doesn’t even care what he’s about to do. But Raphael knows her brother. Zachariah took it upon himself to convince Winchester to accept Michael. And those Winchesters… she wants to laugh. Righteous man? Low standards. True vessels? Even funnier, half of Earth population if not more has Cain blood running in their veins. But human love prophecies, like to feel themselves special, so she understands why Zachariah makes it look like it. Zachariah knows them far better than anyone. The prophet is also… ridiculous and pathetic.

She has to admit though that it doesn’t feel like the End, unlike the middle ages with all the signs evident. But then again, the wars of last century have killed more than pandemic of Black Death did. People pray less. People lose faith.

She knows she can’t stay away, she dives from the edge and descend to Earth with a bolt of lightning.

Among the souls that respond to her calling she chooses Donnie Finnerman. He seems stable, he will do.

Raphael finds him in his garage. Donnie occupies his free time tinkering with an old car. It’s not even a car, it’s a mess. There is no way he can repair it. Raphael put fingers on his tired eyes pulling him into sleep, and then hesitantly enters his dream as he sinks on old chair.

“Hello, Donnie,” she greets him. His soul is livelier than his tired body, eyes shine cheerfully.

“Oh, hey! How did you get here?” she doesn’t answer and he looks around awkwardly. “Sorry for the mess.”

If only he knew what a mess she is inside he wouldn’t be ashamed of this little disorder. He will find out if he says yes. Her eyes found their way back to the car.

“My old man’s car. Dad somehow managed to turn her into this trashcan you see. She used to be a beauty.”

Raphael laughs bitterly to herself. Donnie is really her vessel. She’s spent half of her life trying to mend Father’s legacy.

“No one would have to fix anything if it was done right in the beginning.”

“Then life would be easy and boring,” smiles Donnie. Humans. They learnt to love their misery.

“I guess that’s true.” If only everything could be fixed.

“So who are you? Am I dreaming? ‘Cos beautiful girls don’t appear in my garage every day,” they could if he bothered to invite them.

“You are dreaming. I’m an angel of the Lord. And I need you.”

“An angel needs me… “

“I want to use you,” it was blunt, but she doesn’t feel like searching for words. And especially doesn’t feel like saying that this is for greater good, when it’s most likely isn’t.

“Why?”

“You suit me, Donnie. That’s all. I was you. Maybe with you I can be myself again,” it obviously sounds like nonsense to her chosen one. It is nonsense: she’ll never be the way she used to.

She suddenly realizes that Donnie sees her. Real her. Ugly her. Raphael is not surprised.

“Don’t look, Donnie,” _those scars are not about you, not for your sad eyes,_ “They don’t hurt.” _Not anymore._

“Angels are bad liars, it seems,” Donnie shakes his head. “But fine. Maybe like this my life would worth something. Yes,” he agrees.

As they merge together Donnie find his way into deepest corners of her heart. She finds no will to stop him before he gets lost in those ruins. His soul is radiant and pure and she doesn’t deserve it, yet he gives it to her. And she knows. He knows he’s breaking him, no matter how strong his soul is the darkness that gathered inside Raphael since forever is stronger. Donnie won’t fix him. But he isn’t broken. Suddenly Donnie reaches to the very bottom, to the memory buried under the rubbles of time…

_Paradise… home… family…_

He had it all. When he was born there was light blinding and awakening – Michael. There was warmth and laughter, fresh as the morning dew – Lucifer. There was cooling wind and soft clouds – Gabriel. There was voice, softer and louder than anything that said ‘Israfil’ - Father. His name sounded over the sky like thunder. ‘The burning one’… He didn’t know that yet of course.  But he knew that the big world around was overwhelming with life, it was so young and healthy. Then he was scooped in strong arms (they became so much stronger) and saw two little suns staring at him.

“He’s not burning, dad!” Israfil understood the words but found himself unable to talk back yet. What could he say about that anyway? Gabriel was making faces at him trying to get a reaction. Israfil was confused mostly but suddenly something tickling went through his body.

“Nope, he actually does,” said Gabriel astounded, his hair gone up. And Lucifer laughed. Israfil laughed too.

“You’re a thunder bird, aren’t you, little wing?” Mornings Star pinched his cheek. Israfil loved them both immediately. Michael was different. It was hard but soon enough Israfil understood how to love Michael too.

One day long before Raphael learned how to fly they were sitting in the soft grass, all four together, gazing at the star sky. Lucifer and Gabriel were singing and Israfil tried to sing along. Michael was listening with a small smile. Suddenly interrupting their song he said:

“That star is already dead,” he pointed at the bright blue star right above them.

Israfil didn’t understand. Even the concept of death was alien to him.

“Do dead stars shine too?” he asked looking up at Michael from his laps.

“Yes. No.”

“You don’t make sense, Michael!” whined Gabriel.

“Don’t worry, he never does,” Lucifer ruffled his golden curls and tightened his arm around Michael’s waist. Michael hummed and looked at the night sky with emotions not yet familiar to Israfil. Michael was weird.

“Light is life. And death. Everything you can see and everything you can’t is made of it,” Michael wasn’t very good teacher, as Gabriel said he didn’t make sense, but the truth in his words was inevitable. They were made of light too. In its essence everything is related in this beautiful treacherous kinship.

“When I was little there was a star…” starts Michael and they all found it hard to believe that Michael had ever been little, “I was catching the threads of her light. It felt like she was calling me. It was awhile before I saw her, she was so far away and yet I wanted to reach her, to speak with her…” looking at his brothers skeptic expressions he added, “I know now that stars are mute.”

Gabriel giggles.

“I was climbing the high wall around blindfold and never could draw near. Then I flew eventually. I flew towards her, but when I finally reached her light was far behind me and she was a dead white sphere. She was dead, but her light never died.”

“What that was about, Michael?” asks Gabriel.

“Nothing, forget it,” and they did. But now Raphael remembers. Michael loved that star, if he could he would burn alive in her blaze. Only now Raphael understands how much was just given to them. Home, love, family. Given like sunlight.

But back then Israfil didn’t understand much. He just felt something he didn’t like, something Michael didn’t have to feel. All he could do was push Michael down on his back, dragging Lucifer with them. Michael allowed himself to be ticklish and all those words about death were forgotten, drowned in the laughter and rustle of feathers. And Father was smiling upon them.

But this is no more. No more Lucifer’s smile in Michael’s thick hair, no more Gabriel’s sun-like eyes, no more Father’s  kind voice. No. Only blood and ashes. And salt to pour on the open wounds.

Donnie is crushed. His mind in pieces, his soul is frozen in pain and confusion.

All because Raphael never learned what to do with all this trash. In the end he wishes he could be more like his brothers. Michael always could turn pain into something beautiful, Lucifer turned it into rage and Gabriel just left it behind. But Raphael holds onto it as if there nothing else. Raphael is afraid that the moment he lets go he’ll fall to never rise again.

All he can do to repay Donnie is to save his friends at the gas station he worked at. So he does, he smites demons easily, this time finding no comfort in it. And then he leaves Earth, leaves broken Donnie there.

Raphael is ashamed. He could have done better, without hurting poor Donnie so bad. And now even having a new resilient vessel he feels he has no strength to go on, to put on brave and strict face before his brothers and enemies and to finally face that this is end.  The End.

He knows where he can borrow it. There is only one left who still shares with him. Michael is a constant, even when everything is gone he’ll stay.

Michael is in the Garden. They are all around them… Jegudiel, Sion, Philatel, Jonah, Uriel, Elias, Anael… In the end their grace found its way here to not be lost. Raphael envies them.

“Michael,” he calls his brother’s name quietly.

“Yes?” Raphael loves that Michael sees him beyond the scars, beyond his failures.

“I’ve broken Donnie,” he confesses. He doesn’t want to talk about Lucifer, Gabriel, Apocalypse or about Father. There is nothing left to say.  They both know it.

“You can heal him.”

“Maybe,” he doubts he can. “But what’s the point?”

And Michael understands. He knows him better than anyone else. And he doesn’t judge. He never does. He just pulls Raphael closer.

“Michael?”

“Yes, Raphael?”

“Remember you were telling us about that dead star you loved?” Michael nods carefully, “But who loved you before us? Before Lucifer..?”

“Why asking if you know the answer,” so typical of Michael. But yes, Raphael doesn’t want to be sure. He hides his face in Michael shoulder, hides himself in his brother’s blinding light. Why? Father isn’t looking anymore.  

“I want to go home,” he whispers into Michael’s shoulder.

“Me too, little brother, me too…” Michael kisses his forehead and lays his cheek on his crown. As if he finds comfort in Raphael as well.

Raphael just hopes he won’t molder like a salt mountain before they get there. Because his heart turned into salt-mine too long ago and there is no water left to wash its abundance away.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That what happens when I mix religious material with canon. Duh.  
> Did you know that archangel Raphael was a prototype for Gandalf the Grey? Don't mind me.


End file.
